


Blank Pages

by OscillatingBetweenIdentities



Category: Bridgerton (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Identity Issues, Penelope centric, Self-Worth Issues, Slow Burn, learning to love yourself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:28:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28877982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OscillatingBetweenIdentities/pseuds/OscillatingBetweenIdentities
Summary: It was laughable, the very idea that Colin would ever love her when she didn't even love herself.
Relationships: Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington, Penelope Featherington/Herself
Comments: 8
Kudos: 116





	1. Chapter 1

1

* * *

Lady Whistledown had started as a way for Penelope to finally say the things she wasn’t allowed to in real life. It had been her way to put words to that almost bitter feeling that always lingered inside of her, that only really went away when she was with Eloise or Colin, or any of the Bridgertons really. For all the times she had wanted to scream at the world but just sat quietly and sipped her tea instead.

But it became something much more than that. It became popular, went viral. Oh, it didn’t happen overnight of course, it was slow going. She used to write sporadically about the happenings at parties that her sisters went to, about the elder Bridgerton brothers, about the scandals her father’s friends (and her father) got themselves into. And then she made her ‘debut’ and instead of hearing things second-hand, she got a front row seat and suddenly there was so much more material, so much judgement she was aching to pass upon everyone.

And _so_ much money to be made.

Her mother knew she had a little freelance job online. Penelope had told her that she did content writing for some small websites and her mother sniffed and rather ironically, told her to make sure it wasn’t under her own name, how ghastly for someone to think that a Featherington actually worked. After that it was never really spoken of again, brought up by her sisters on occasion who kept forgetting what she did, one time she was a freelance video editor, another a freelance marketer, once they even thought it was as a freelance artist, as if Penelope had ever picked up a pencil for drawing since her GCSE.

They didn’t care, but then they never really had. Penelope only wished they did.

But there she was, financially independent at the age of 25. She could move out if she so chose. Could jet off on a long holiday, maybe somewhere down the Mediterranean. Or give herself a My Fair Lady style makeover, that was certainly what her mother would want her to do. After all, a woman’s appearance was the only thing to get her through life and while Penelope ‘didn’t have much to work with’, making an effort was the only right thing for her to do, according to the Featherington matriarch.

Penelope chose to spend her money finding and working with a therapist instead. She was sure that would end up costing a fair bit if she wanted one who could be discreet about her difficulties but she needed it.

No one had ever told her how tiring it got to hate yourself.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

2

* * *

Eloise took a split second look at Penelope before pulling her to sit down and taking her hand gently into her own, “What did your mother do?”

Penelope snorted and shook her head. She knew she looked terrible, she’d never been a pretty crier and she had spent a lot of the last two hours crying. Her nose and eyes were red, face splotchy, and she’d washed off all the mascara that had run down her face, clearly not waterproof regardless of the claims it had printed on its side.

She laughed it off, “It’s fine, I just watched a sad movie, that’s all. It was a good cry, I promise.”

The frown didn’t leave Eloise’s face but the tension bled out from her shoulders. Penelope wasn’t lying, not entirely. It had been a good cry really, once she got over the embarrassment of crying in front of someone. It had been nice to cry and not have someone say ‘It’ll be okay,’ or ‘Stop that terrible noise, The therapist had just sat there and let her cry, handing her a tissue box, and the only time the words, “It’s okay” had left her mouth were when Penelope had apologised for crying.

Penelope had just talked, prompted on occasion by the therapist but it felt like she had just sat there talking for hours. It was unusual for Penelope, she was usually the one doing the listening, rarely the talking.

It was only once she was done with the flood of words that the therapist had started talking. Started explaining how therapy would work, giving her resources so she could look it up on her own if she wanted, and then finally coaxing Penelope to put into words what she wanted to achieve over the course of it all.

Penelope just didn’t want to hate herself anymore. It was that simple.

It was that complicated.

Penelope shook herself out of her state and turned to Eloise once again. She still felt uncomfortable being talked about so a change in topic was necessary and what better topic to talk about than he favourite Bridgerton.

“I hear Colin’s coming back tomorrow.”

And Eloise rolled her eyes before starting off on a tirade of how unfair it was that Colin got to travel the world because he was a man while she was stuck in London because of Anthony’s chauvinism.

And the more Penelope faded away into a listener, the more she relaxed.

And that was good because she had a Herculean task to complete tonight

* * *

Penelope didn’t think she was particularly dramatic. What she was thinking of doing was certainly very dramatic. No one would bear witness to it of course, but it would feel like she was being untrue to her wallflower self.

But there she stood in front of a fogged up mirror, her damp hands having cleared the part where she was reflected and she _felt_ like she was being dramatic. In a few minutes, seconds really, the automatic exhaust would get to working, clearing the steam away, leaving a clear mirror. It was a fleeting opportunity in front of her and she still wondered if she should take it.

Her therapist had given her a small bit of homework to do but it was terrifying all the same. And well, Penelope had always been braver with her words when they were written.

Quickly she raised a trembling hand to the mirror and dashed out the words before they threatened to choke her. ‘I am Lady Whistledown.’ written on a steamed up mirror, her own face reflected underneath it.

It felt dramatic. Too dramatic to be borne and Penelope wiped the words away just as quickly as she had written them.

“I’m Lady Whistledown,” She whispered instead, maniacal laughter bubbling out her mouth and for the first time in a very long time, Penelope felt brave.


End file.
